Hurt
by Tex-chan
Summary: On the anniversary of Asuka's death, Yohji has to face the fact that some hurts never heal. But, with friendship and forgiveness, perhaps it's possible to live through even the worst pain. One shot.


_**Legal Stuff:** We all know I don't own Weiss Kreuz or any of the pretty kitties. Oh, how I wish I did. This piece of fanfiction is intended only as an expression of appreciation for Weiss and the characters included within the show. It was created solely for fun, and not at all for profit. If you have rights in Weiss, or any of the characters portrayed in this fic, and you find this fanfiction to be offensive in any way, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove the story.  
__**Notes:** I apologize in advance for any punctuation errors appearing in this story. upload function seems to dislike certain types of punctuation marks. I believe I managed to catch all of them, but a few might have slipped through the cracks. Same story with typos_

Yohji paused at the corner. He leaned against a lamp post and watched the cars whiz by in front of him as he lit a cigarette. His pose was casual and nonchalant - just a guy, out enjoying the day, pausing to engage in a favorite vice. Still, despite the cool, calm demeanor he struggled to project, it took three tries before the lighter sprang to life. Yohji told himself it had nothing to do with the fact his hands were shaking so badly he could barely even hang on to the small, metal object. He knew it was a lie, almost as soon as his mind formed the thought, but, he forced himself to take comfort in it, just the same. He wasn't upset. He wasn't hollow and empty. He wasn't jaded and used up at the ripe old age of twenty-whatever. He wasn't beyond caring what happened to him, beyond placing any value on his own life. He didn't want to scream out the frustration and rage that were eating him alive, fueled by a loss he'd never get over, a hurt that would never heal. Nothing could bother him today. There wasn't anything special about today at all. The damn lighter just needed more fluid, that's all. It didn't have anything to do with his trembling hands and his heart hammering against his chest so hard his ribs ached. Today was just another ordinary day in the shit-pile world that made up Yohji Kudou's universe.

Lies. All lies. He didn't believe a word of it. Even as his mind whispered the empty platitudes, he had already rejected them. Today wasn't just another day. It was the day his life had ended, all those years ago. It was her day - the day Asuka had died. Yohji had been hell-bent on joining her ever since he had watched those assholes gun her down on that dark, deserted street, ever since he had watched her throw her life away for him - pearls before swine ... wasn't that how the saying went?

Hell, if it was lies he wanted to hear, why not go for the Big Kahuna? Why not pretend nothing else had happened today? Why not pretend he hadn't fought with Aya, he hadn't just left his best friend lying at the foot of the stairs in the Koneko's living room, that he hadn't stepped over Aya's still body without even stopping to see if the younger man was alive? Why not pretend he wouldn't have to remember today as the day he'd destroyed the two people he cared about most - Asuka, and the one person in the world who had come close to filling the void she had left behind.

Yohji shoved the lighter back into his jeans pocket, his trembling hands causing him to fumble a bit with the small, slippery object before he succeeded in stowing it. He leaned back against the lamp post and slid to the ground, landing, hard, on his rear, with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms resting across his knees. Life went on, streaming past - a river of humanity and activity flowing around him, the solitary rock in its midst. People hurried by on the crowded sidewalk, barely sparing a glance for the forlorn figure hunched against the light pole. The sun shone; cars whizzed by, honking at each other, drivers shouting and gesticulating; motorcycles and bicycles mingled with the traffic on the street and on the sidewalk, their beeping horns and jingling bells adding to the general, disordered music of a bustling city street.

He was there, in the middle of it, a forlorn, dejected figure in the midst of the chaotic symphony of big-city life, and, yet, it didn't have anything to do with him. Yohji wasn't really part of the world any longer. In so many ways, he'd felt like this for a long time. Ever since Asuka had died, he'd been on the outside, looking in... just a drone going through the motions of life without really living.

And, after what had happened today, with Aya, Yohji's shell-shocked mind couldn't help but see it all as some kind of terrible joke - the kind of bit that's funny just because you know it's not supposed to be that way. These people with their puffed-up, self-important view of the world, hurrying toward this or that shit job, worried about nothing more than what they might fix for dinner, the sun shining down on the whole scene, the beautiful day... it all seemed like the biggest freaking mockery. If he hadn't been so horrified over what had just happened, he might have even laughed. It was just that damn funny, but in a sad, pathetic sort of way. He could feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside him, just beneath the surface, struggling to get out. Only the memory of what he had done back at the Koneko, the actions that had sent him sprinting from the only haven he knew, kept the giggles in check.

Yohji dropped his head into the palms of his hands and stared at the small patch of cracked sidewalk visible between his feet. He was tired and hung over from yet another two-day drinking and carousing binge, the most recent in a long string of them, but it was more than that. He was done, used up, a young old man, beaten down by the life he had lived, the things he had been, and all the shit he had seen. And, he was scared. He wasn't too proud to admit it. He was scared shitless - terrified of everything he was and everything he had done. And, what had happened today, with Aya ... thoughts and images of that still screamed through his mind, twisted his stomach into a huge knot, and froze his blood. And, now, here he sat, four blocks away from the Koneko, without a clue where he should go or what he should do next, and too damn sick and tired of being himself to even summon up the energy to think about it.

He still wasn't sure how the whole thing had happened. Certain instances of the altercation stood out in his mind like movie stills, with a sick-edged clarity that made him want to puke. But, the rest of it was a huge blur, starting with him confronting Aya over the refusal of Kritiker's offered mission for tonight and, somehow, ending with him standing at the top of the stairs, clutching Aya's torn jacket sleeve in one hand and staring down at the younger man's still body.

Yohji closed his eyes, squeezing them shut against the tears he could feel gathering there, as he struggled to remember everything that had happened. He had overheard Aya on the phone with Manx, turning down a mission that was supposed to be set for tonight. Normally, a mission refusal would be cause for celebration - one more free night in which to drink and fuck his cares away, one more night where he didn't have to kill anyone, didn't have to feel blood flowing over his hands, smell it on his clothes. But, today... knowing it was coming would have been welcome. The chance that, maybe, this time, he might not walk away from it in the end would have been sweet, something to savor and hope for, like the first hint of spring in the air.

He always felt especially fatalistic on this particular day, and Aya knew it. They never had missions on Asuka's day. Yohji knew Aya turned them down because he was afraid. He wasn't sure how he knew, because, of course, Aya had never said so. That wasn't his way. But, as with so many things involving his quiet friend over the years, the knowledge had simply come to Yohji. One day, it was there, staring him in the face, a surprise, and, yet, almost like something he had known all along. The thought that he might pull the ultimate "stupid Yohji" trick and let some scumbag target waste him, just so he wouldn't have to live through another year knowing Asuka was gone, terrified Aya. The quiet redhead didn't have many things in this life that were important to him, and the things that were, the people that mattered... well, he tended to hold tightly to them, as if hanging on for dear life. It was as if Aya believed he could save his own sanity by keeping them safe. Yohji knew the redhead well enough to realize refusing missions on Asuka's day was Aya's way of being overprotective, piss-poor excuse for it that it was. The redhead was bad at showing his feelings. Having to do so made him uncomfortable, which led to him being even more pissy than usual, if such a thing were possible. And, Yohji figured, that was where it had all started today - a combination of Aya's dark-angel, pissy, protectiveness and his own fatalistic yearning for an end to suffering through life without the woman he loved.

He had been there, right in Aya's face, as soon as the redhead had hung up the phone. That much, he remembered clearly. Aya had taken the call in his bedroom, but, even so, Yohji had stormed in to confront him, to argue with him over declining the mission. He couldn't remember, now, whether he had thought he could change Aya's mind, or if he had just wanted to fight. Probably the latter, if he was to be honest. But, whatever the reason, Yohji had barged into Aya's room. He couldn't remember what he had said, but he was pretty sure it hadn't been nice. He vaguely remembered Aya shoving his way past him and out into the hall, heading toward the stairs and his opening shift in the flower shop without even a monosyllabic reply or a death glare to indicate he'd heard a word the tall blonde had said.

He had followed, unable to let the confrontation go. He had caught up to the redhead in a few long strides, just as Aya had reached the top of the stairs, and he had grabbed the younger man's wrist to keep him from leaving. He remembered yelling. He had screamed insults and horrible, accusing words at his best friend, and Aya had just stood there and taken it, uncharacteristic for the touchy redhead. He had seen it in the younger man's eyes. Aya hadn't wanted to fight with him. Aya hadn't wanted to discuss the mission or lack of a mission. Aya had wanted to help him, to comfort him, but the redhead hadn't known how.

Even now, with his mind hazed over from the shock of what had happened, Yohji could feel the emotions surging through him at the memory of that puzzled, pained look in Aya's blue-lavender eyes. Most people thought the quiet man was an emotionless person, a true ice prince in every way, but Yohji knew Aya better than anyone. The tall blonde had become adept at reading the younger man's mood from the slightest narrowing of his eyes to the smallest inflection of his voice, and that look had been like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness. It had told him Aya was hurting, too - hurting and scared for him. That look had told Yohji Aya wanted to help him. It had told him the younger man wanted to toss him the rope that would save him from drowning in the quagmire of sorrow surrounding Asuka's death. But, the truth was, Aya was bad at it. He'd spent so much time pushing everyone away, he'd almost forgotten how to be human, how to care for and comfort someone in pain. Even so, for Yohji, he would try, no matter how hard, no matter what the emotional cost.

Yohji loved Aya for that. He couldn't help it. Even now, just remembering the way Aya had stood there, staring at him with those eyes full of hurt and longing, how the redhead had done nothing as he had ranted and raved like a lunatic, the tall blonde could feel the love for his best friend surging through him, mixing in and wrapping around the other emotions warring for dominance of his heart. He loved Aya like the family he had lost so long ago, like he loved the shadowy remnants in his soul of the innocent boy he used to be, before Asuka and Kritiker and Weiss. With Aya, he never had to hide anything. He never had to pretend to be something or someone he wasn't. He didn't have to keep up the façade that everything was a joke, that all of life was just one big round of never-ending laughter, punctuated with sex, drugs, and booze. And, somehow, Yohji had come to think he could be a better person... that he could be stronger or smarter... that he could just be more than what he was, as long as Aya was around. It was idiotic. Beyond stupid, throwing all his hopes onto one person like that, and he had had to pick an icy, prickly, anti-social bastard of a person, at that. But, idiotic or stupid as it was, the feelings were there. And, over the years they had lived and worked together, Yohji had come to depend on Aya, had come to trust the redhead implicitly, and had come to love him like the brother he had never had. Maybe, their bond went even deeper than that. Yohji tried not to dwell on it too much. When you were Weiss, it didn't pay to over think your existence. One minute you were here... the next, you were gone. It was that simple, that cut and dried.

But, no matter how much he loved Aya, Yohji hated the younger man a little bit, too. He hated Aya for thinking this was a pain that could be comforted, and, twisted as it was, he hated Aya just for being there, for being alive, when Asuka was dead. Thinking back on it now, Yohji realized Aya had known there weren't any words to make everything okay. That was why the redhead had just stood there, with that strange, almost-trapped look in his eyes, letting Yohji curse and scream insults at him. Nothing could ever make a world without Asuka okay, especially not on this day, of all days - the day she had died. And, even though he still didn't understand it, Yohji figured he had hated Aya for that, most of all. He still did. Even now, he could feel the hatred rushing through him. It was irrational. Yohji knew it was stupid and irrational, but he didn't care. He hadn't wanted to be rational back there, in the hallway, at the top of the stairs, and, he didn't want to be that way now, either.

Back there, he had wanted to be mad. He had wanted to hate the whole world, to take it and twist it until it screamed for mercy, and then twist it some more, for good measure. Somehow, even now, after all that had happened, some part of Yohji still felt like that. Some part of his soul still raged because he had lived and Asuka had died. It wasn't fair. It wasn't just. It wasn't right.

But, back there, in the hallway outside his bedroom, in the space they called home, their only haven from the world, Yohji had done the unthinkable. He had unleashed his rage at Fate, for taking Asuka and leaving him here alone to face the cold world with a void in his soul, a hurt so deep, it would never heal. He had wanted to hate, and Aya was there. Aya was the one person in the world he could hate, because Aya would forgive him for it. He didn't understand how he knew it, but he sensed that about the redhead - that Aya would forgive him almost anything. In the end, he loved Aya for that, most of all, which made it impossible to hate him. And, somehow, that whole, twisted, convoluted relationship the two of them had, binding love and hate together in one, hand-in-hand, had just pissed Yohji off.

He wasn't sure what had made him snap. Yohji figured it would always be somewhat vague. His mind didn't want to remember it. One minute, he was standing there, yelling at Aya, screaming curses and insults at his best friend, and, the next, he had swung on the redhead. For all the haziness surrounding the altercation, some things were painfully clear, like the surprise and shock in Aya's eyes when that punch had landed. The transition from yelling to physical violence had been fast - so fast, Yohji almost hadn't realized what he was doing. It had caught Aya off-guard. The redhead hadn't had time to defend against the blow, which had caught him along the side of the face and had sent him stumbling backward, toward the stairs a few steps behind him. Yohji had jumped forward, just as Aya had started to fall, to make a desperate grab for the younger man's arm. Instead, his grasping fingers had seized upon the redhead's coat sleeve, which had ripped at the seam. One minute, Aya had been standing there, and, then, the next, Yohji had found himself looking down on the redhead's still body at the foot of the stairs, holding Aya's torn jacket sleeve in his clenched fist and wondering what the holy hell had just happened.

That's when the walls had closed in on him. The air had turned thick and heavy, making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe. His heart had begun hammering away - a crazed, living creature struggling to escape the prison of his chest - and he hadn't been able to hear anything, hadn't even been able to think above the sound of the blood roaring through his ears. He couldn't stay there. No matter how much he had wanted to, no matter how his heart had screamed at him to stay near Aya, Yohji hadn't been able to do it. He couldn't stay in that building, with the walls closing in on him, and faced with the horror of what he had done. So, he had followed his gut instead of his heart, and run. He had stepped over Aya's still body without even checking to see if the redhead was all right and just kept going, right out the door and down the street, dropping the younger man's torn coat sleeve in the kitchen on his way out.

So, that brought him here... mid-morning, on the worst day of his god-forsaken life, hunched over as if he could fold right into himself and disappear, holding down this little piece of cracked, dirty sidewalk, and leaning against the filthiest light pole in existence as mobs of people flowed around him, going about their days free from the soul-wrenching feeling of having harmed those they cared about most. Yohji hated them. He couldn't help it. They could walk around in the light of day without feeling the need to keep to the shadows. They could go about their business without having to know how it felt to end someone's life, without experiencing the stomach-twisting feeling of a stranger's warm blood flowing over their hands. They would never know the pain of causing someone they loved to suffer and die. What he wouldn't give to be one of these working class drones streaming past him on the sidewalk, headed to a boring office job, his biggest worry whether the guy in the next cubicle over was going to get the last jelly doughnut again.

Yohji sighed and ran his hands through his hair, a quick, rough gesture that caused his scalp to sear with pain as his fingers caught in the tangles at the ends of the shoulder-length strands and pulled. He welcomed the pain... wished it was more, even... wished that, somehow, his body could go through physical torment to mimic the hurt burning its way through his heart, rending his soul into tatters. But, that wasn't possible. Even in his agitated, distraught state, Yohji realized there wasn't any pain to match the feeling of watching your beloved's murder. There wasn't any hurt to mimic the horror of knowing you'd sent your best friend, a man closer to you than a brother, sailing through the air toward, if not certain doom, then serious injury. No pain in the world could match the fiery torture of knowing you'd betrayed the person who was closest to you. Nothing could mimic the hell of feeling the hollow sting of loss rocket through your soul for the second time in your life. Not even death.

Normal people feared death, which was something Yohji didn't understand. But, then again, he wasn't normal. He was Weiss, just biding time until he came up against a beast with fangs and claws more vicious than his own. Death might have been final, but it wasn't pain. It was the absence of pain, the absence of suffering. The tall blonde had often thought he would welcome it with open arms, that he would greet it and embrace it like a long-lost, old friend. For now, though, he deserved to suffer. For what he had done, for those he had failed, for those he had betrayed, he deserved all the pain and suffering life could heap on him.

"Fuck, I need a fucking drink," Yohji muttered, glancing at his watch. It was only ten AM - far too early to be as stone-cold sober as he felt, and, yet, also too early for any of his favorite haunts to be open.

The sunlight glinted off of something, catching the tall blonde's attention. He stared for a moment, noticing, for the first time, a single strand of fine, red hair caught in the stem of his watch. Aya's hair. It must have caught there when he struck the younger man. Yohji pulled it out and held it up to the light, feeling the all-too-familiar pang of loss. But, it was pain tinged with something else - guilt, certainly, but, also regret... maybe even fear. He wasn't sure. So many emotions were bubbling around inside him at the moment, he found he wasn't able to isolate just a few. But, he did know one thing for certain: he hated himself for more than just attacking Aya the way he had. Maybe, that could be excused, half-crazed as he was with grief over Asuka's loss, which was still so fresh and painful, even after all this time. But, he had left. He had walked out of the Koneko without even stopping to check on Aya, without knowing whether or not the younger man was alive. He had stepped over his best friend's still body like it was nothing, like he didn't even care. And, that was the ultimate betrayal. The memory of that - of leaving Aya lying there, still and alone, on the cold, hard floor - burned its way though the roots of Yohji's soul with a blue-white fire far worse than any nightmare of Asuka's death had ever done.

If Aya was all right, Yohji doubted the younger man would ever be able to forgive him. No, the tall blonde corrected himself sternly. Aya was okay. He had to be. Yohji didn't think he could live with the alternative. He couldn't live with the knowledge that Aya wasn't all right, and that it was his fault. Even if the redhead could find forgiveness in his heart, Yohji figured it wouldn't matter, in the end. The tall blonde didn't think he could forgive himself for what he had done today. He didn't see how anything could ever be the same for them again - not after this.

A slight breeze, chilly with the remaining dew of mid-morning, pulled at the fine, red strand, threatening to tug it from Yohji's fingers. The tall blonde tightened his hold, unwilling to relinquish this last, tangible connection to the quiet man who had come to mean so much to him.

As he stared at the silken strand, a part of his mind wandered, coming to rest on the knowledge that Omi and Ken hadn't been there when it had happened. The tall blonde couldn't help but wonder what they would think when they arrived home to find Aya lying at the foot of the stairs, unconscious or worse, and no one else around.

The breeze kicked up a bit stronger, finally tugging the hair from Yohji's fingers. He shivered as he watched it float away, afraid it was a sign Aya might be lost to him forever, just as he feared.

* * *

Omi sighed, jumping at the suddenness of the sound. It made him feel a bit foolish, but the small noise had seemed to explode, gunshot-loud, into the oppressive stillness of the room. He glanced around, as if to make sure no one had seen his show of weakness. More foolishness. There wasn't anyone here to see it - no one in the room, or, even, the rest of the apartment, except for him. Well, Aya was here, too, but the redhead wasn't noticing anything at the moment. Omi spared a glance toward the still figure on the sofa in front of him. He almost wished for the older man to give him a hard time about his little show of nerves. At least, then, it would seem like things were all right. It would seem like everything was normal again, and his universe was all tilting properly and whirling away, just as it should be. 

But, there weren't any comments from Aya. No sneering, slightly teasing, condescending remarks, no half-smile hidden behind that cold, emotionless mask. Omi shivered, in spite of himself. The apartment was quiet - too quiet for the young blonde's taste. The silence folded around him, suffocating everything until the simple act of breathing became an effort, and he wanted to scream just to break the stillness.

His mind whirled. Thoughts and accusations chased each other through his brain and set his emotions in turmoil. Feelings of hatred, confusion, and rage vied for domination of his soul and raced through his being until he thought he would go insane. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, and he was terrified of jumping to the wrong one, a conclusion that could rip the team apart and mean the end for Weiss. But, even so, the evidence before him and the emotions warring for his heart drew him toward the only conclusion possible. And, that was something the youngest Weiss couldn't think about. So, instead, Omi's traitorous mind turned its attention toward the memories of a few hours ago, the shock of what he had seen upon returning home.

He and Ken had arrived, arms full of grocery bags, to find the kitchen door standing wide open, flapping back and forth in the breeze. That had been enough of a shock to set them both scrambling up the stairs, tripping and stumbling over their own feet as they struggled to rush inside and still hang on to the groceries. But, the sight that had greeted them inside... Omi still shivered now, hours later, at the memory of it.

The house had been quiet - too quiet, just as it was now - the only sounds to greet them the soft squeaking of the door's hinges as it moved in the light wind and the buzzing hum of the clock on the stove. Omi had reached the kitchen first. His smaller size and lighter burden of one bag of groceries to Ken's two had worked in his favor to carry him past the ex-goalie on their wild, panicked scramble up the steps. He had burst through the door to find nothing amiss, nothing out of place. Somehow, that ordered normality had, in and of itself, been unsettling enough to set his senses on edge and cause the hairs on the back of his neck and along his arms to prickle. The kitchen had been empty, except for a sleeve from Aya's favorite coat, lying on the floor, just inside the door. He had almost stepped on it before he had noticed it, but seeing it had confirmed in his mind that something was wrong. His brain, trained and honed by years of experience as an assassin, had jumped to that decision almost without him realizing it. He had turned, already afraid of what he would see, but moving as if in a dream, his mind forcing his body into action against his will, to see Aya, lying motionless at the foot of the stairs. It all seemed so far away now, even though it had only happened a few hours ago. It was like a nightmare, except he knew it was true.

He had dropped his bag of groceries. The sound of the eggs splattering and breaking as they tumbled from the bag, along with Ken's exclamation of: "What the fuck're you doing!" still rang in his ears. But, Omi hadn't heard either sound, not really. He had been moving forward at that point, rushing into the other room so quickly that he had tripped twice, first over the edge of the rug and then over his own feet, coming close to falling flat on his face. Then, he was skidding to his knees next to Aya, feeling the scrape of old wood through his jeans as he hit the floor, his breath catching in his throat as he reached out toward his fallen teammate, silently praying the redhead was still breathing, that Aya was still alive.

Ken had been right on his heels, stomping through the spilled eggs, scattering the rest of the groceries all over the kitchen floor, and cursing under his breath. One look at Aya's still body, and Ken had jumped to the conclusion Omi's mind still rebelled against. With a growl of rage and a string of muttered curses, the ex-goalie had vaulted up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time in his haste. Omi had heard him rampaging through the upstairs rooms, shouting Yohji's name. The young blonde had wanted to call after Ken, to tell him not to jump to any conclusions, to remind him they didn't know what had happened, and to warn him not to go off half-cocked and angry until they knew the whole story. But, the words had died in his throat. As well they should have. One look at Aya had told Omi Ken was right. They both had a pretty good idea of what had happened, and they both knew who had done this. There was only one person in the world that could get close enough to Aya to hurt him like this. Why should Omi fault Ken for being candid with his feelings? After all, Ken's open, easy-going brand of honesty was one of the things that drew Omi to him, that had, over the years, made the ex-goalie his best and most trusted friend.

After a few moments of listening to Ken's footsteps pounding out an angry rhythm overhead, the ex-goalie had come tramping down the stairs, still full of raging fury, and announced that Yohji was gone. Ken had taken one more glance at Aya, and, with another string of curses, he had stormed out of the house, slamming the kitchen door behind him with enough force to make the cabinets rattle. Omi had wanted to call out after him, to stop Ken from leaving, but, again, the words had died in his throat. He had recognized that look in Ken's eyes. If the ex-goalie found Yohji, he would let his fists do all the talking. Omi couldn't help but be a little amused by the irony of it. After all, Ken would have gladly thrown Aya down the stairs any day of the week, and, maybe, twice on Sundays. But, the young blonde supposed, in the end, no matter his personal feelings toward the redhead, Ken saw Aya as family, and no one messed with the ex-goalie's family without being called to answer for it.

Ken's departure had left Omi alone, in the all-too-quiet house, with only the mess on the kitchen floor and an unconscious man for company. He still wasn't sure how he had done it, but, somehow, he had wrestled Aya up off the floor and onto the sofa. He had made the redhead as comfortable as he could, and had settled in to wait.

This was the part Omi hated most of all - the waiting. He felt so impotent, so helpless, and so small when he couldn't do anything more than just sit, listening to the silence grow all around him and praying that Aya would wake up and explain all this away before something worse happened - before his own mind had to stop ignoring the truth staring him in the face, and before Ken managed to find Yohji. If either of those things happened, Omi had a feeling their lives would be forever changed, and not for the better.

He had hoped Aya would have awakened before now, but it had been hours, and the redhead hadn't stirred, not so much as an eye flicker or a moan. With a sigh, the young blonde looked away from the still figure. He glanced around the room, noticing the small slice of kitchen visible through the doorway between it and the living room. Broken eggs and eggshells littered the floor, mixed in with some flour and the coffee grounds that had been in his grocery sack. They had all burst open when he had dropped the bag, and, then, been trampled underfoot when he and Ken had rushed through the kitchen to get to Aya. He should go clean up the mess. It was silly to leave it, but, at the same time, he couldn't convince himself to leave Aya. Omi knew it was ridiculous. He couldn't do anything more for the redhead, other than just sitting here and watching him. But, at the same time, the young blonde was reluctant to leave him. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because he hadn't been here when all of this had happened, and, in the back of his mind, no matter how ridiculous a thought it was, he harbored a kernel of belief that he could have prevented it. Or, maybe it was just because he couldn't get over the shock of finding Aya like that - so still and fragile-looking, so vulnerable and alone, at the foot of the stairs. Omi tried not to over-think it. His mind was already whirling enough from the accusations and emotions bubbling around inside him. It was enough that the feeling was there, whatever the reason, and it was strong enough to keep him glued to his chair, watching Aya and hoping for the redhead to wake.

It was getting dark outside. In a little while, the sun would set, and the lighting in the living room had become increasingly dim. Omi was shocked to realize he hadn't noticed the day's passing. He had been too focused on willing Aya awake and too lost in his own thoughts to take any notice of the things going on around him. Funny how the world kept right on turning, even when it felt like his whole universe was crumbling, but Omi figured life was just like that.

He leaned around Aya and flipped on a lamp sitting on the side table next to the sofa. It sprang to life, flooding the room with harsh, incandescent light that seemed almost hot. It threw Aya's still features into sharp relief, emphasizing the paleness of his skin, the hollows under his eyes, and the dark bruise along his cheekbone. In the harsh, unforgiving light, the redhead almost looked like a corpse. It was unnerving enough that Omi had to fight the urge to flip the light back off. Perhaps, sitting in the dark was better than this.

Just as he had about decided to give in to his childish fears and turn off the light, Aya moaned and stirred - the first signs of a return to consciousness Omi had seen since finding the redhead sprawled on the floor at the base of the stairs. The young blonde leaned forward, hoping against hope he wasn't wrong. There still might be time to set everything right, if Aya really was returning to the land of the living.

* * *

Light was the first sensation to slam into Aya as he battled his way up from the darkness in which he'd been floating. It rammed through his subconscious and made his brain shriek in agony. It was almost enough to make him want to retreat back into the black, which had been warm, comforting, and inviting - deceptively so. It was the kind of place you wanted to linger, even when every pore of your being screamed at you to leave. Even so, he would have gone back there, if not for the hazy memory of Yohji, and the last conscious glimpse he'd had of the tall blonde's face. That was what drove him toward the harsh, unforgiving light - that memory of his best friend's face, twisted in fear. 

Aya groaned and tried to bring his hand up over his eyes, to shield them from the overwhelming brightness. At least, he thought he groaned. He wasn't sure. The sound seemed loud in his mind, enough to split his skull and set his head to pounding, but he might not have made any noise at all. Things were a bit hazy at the moment. And, his hand seemed so damn heavy. He found it was more effort than it was worth to lift it, so he screwed his eyes shut tighter, protecting them against the hot whiteness that seemed to engulf him. For the love of all that was holy, why the hell didn't someone turn off that damn light?

Finally, unable to resist the pull of consciousness any longer, Aya gave in and opened his eyes. He was surprised to find himself on the sofa in their living room, with Omi hovering over him, a mixture of fear and relief written in those cornflower blue, almost-innocent eyes. The light, which had seemed so hot and harsh before, was nothing more than the lamp on the table beside the sofa. Now that his eyes were open and he was slowly focusing on his surroundings, he realized it gave off a much softer glow than he had initially believed.

Aya groaned again and struggled to sit up, finding even this simple act fraught with peril and impossible to accomplish. His whole body ached. It felt like he was one huge mass of ugly, bruised hurt. Omi leaned forward to help him, sliding his arm behind Aya's back and supporting the older man into a sitting position.

Aya grunted his thanks at his young teammate, still not coordinated enough or awake enough to find his voice. At the moment, it seemed to take all his energy just to get his eyes to focus.

"Thank heavens," Omi said, his voice sounding a little too bright and cheerful, his tone a little too breezy, in an effort to hide his worry. "I've been sitting here for hours. Thought you weren't ever gonna wake up."

Aya stared at the boy for a moment as his brain struggled to make sense of Omi's words. He wasn't hitting on all cylinders just yet, and it seemed his mind was racing to catch up to the rest of the world. It was an odd feeling - like he was stuck in quick sand or sticky mud, watching everyone zip past him as he struggled to keep up.

"Where's Yohji?" he asked.

He winced at the sound of his voice. His tone was demanding, almost argumentative, bordering on confrontational - not the way you should greet someone who had just spent several hours watching over you and worrying about you. He didn't mean the question that way. His strained tone of voice was born more of worry over Yohji than anything else. But, he figured Omi wouldn't realize that. Aya wasn't a fool, and he was no dummy. He had figured out, long ago, the two youngest Weiss tended to misunderstand him on an almost constant basis. They had been fooled by his act, fooled into believing he was the consummate asshole he pretended to be. Normally, that was just fine with Aya. The fewer people who wanted to get close to him, the fewer people who wriggled their way into his life and his heart, the fewer people he would have to mourn, in the end. It was bad enough he'd let Yohji worm his way in. But, sometimes, like now, when he saw the crushed look in Omi's eyes and knew, without a doubt, he'd disappointed the boy, Aya regretted it. Still, the words were out there now. There was no pulling them back, and he just hoped Omi could shed some light on Yohji's whereabouts.

Omi rolled his eyes. 'Asshole,' he thought.

Leave it to Aya not to appreciate the fact someone had been sitting here for hours, worried sick over him, waiting, praying, and hoping he'd wake up and that he was all right. Leave it to their resident ice prince to come back to consciousness demanding information with that irritating, holier-than-thou attitude the redhead seemed to pull around himself like a shroud. Omi thought Aya's attitude was, mostly, an act. And, he had to admit to being more than a bit relieved at seeing the older man acting so normal. It went a long way toward allaying his fears that the redhead had suffered any serious injury. Still, the young blonde couldn't help but think his older teammate was an ungrateful jerk.

But, instead of voicing all these thoughts, Omi took a deep breath and, letting it out on a long sigh, said, "I don't know. We came home and found you at the bottom of the stairs, out cold. Yohji wasn't here... hasn't been here."

He paused for a second, struggling to gauge Aya's reaction to his words, but the redhead showed no emotion. Omi might as well have been telling him the sky was blue, for all the reaction his statement caused. The young blonde knew how close Aya and Yohji were. He knew the redhead's emotions had to be in turmoil. But, as always, those blue-violet eyes gave nothing away.

After a few seconds, when it became apparent Aya wasn't going to reply, Omi asked, "What happened?"

Aya stared at his young teammate for a few moments as he debated over what he should tell the boy. Omi was Weiss, and, as such, he deserved to know the truth. But, at the same time, the redhead wasn't sure how much the young blonde knew about Yohji's past. In the end, loyalty to his best friend won out, and Aya shook his head slightly, carefully, as if it was filled with broken glass. Even that small movement cost him. He wanted to scream out in pain, and barely managed to choke it down.

"Nothing. I fell. I tripped and fell down the stairs," he replied, biting the words off against the pain that radiated from his head and traveled throughout every part of his body. It made his speech sound clipped, harsh, and cold. He didn't mean any of that, but, still, he couldn't help it. All he could do was choke back the scream threatening to force its way out of his mouth and pray the kid, somehow, saw through his harsh tone to the truth. If anyone could, it was Omi. The young blonde was incredibly perceptive, and, without a doubt, the smartest of all of them.

Omi frowned. It was clear he didn't believe the redhead, but, he decided to voice his opinion, as well. His mind had already had hours to jump to conclusions that, although probably correct, he didn't want to believe, and Omi figured now wasn't the time to leave understanding up to chance. Now, more than ever, they needed to be clear and honest.

"Don't give me that crap," the young blonde said, shaking his head to emphasize his words. "I know better than that. Coming home to find you laid out cold at the bottom of the stairs, with that huge bruise on your face, and Yohji nowhere to be found. I know what happened. I just want to hear the whole story from you."

"I tripped and fell," Aya said, again. His voice was more sullen, his tone more defensive, than he had intended. He knew Omi would be able to tell he was lying. But, then again, the kid already knew he was lying, so what difference did it make?

Omi sighed and shook his head. He recognized Aya's tone well enough. It was that stubborn attitude that told him, without a doubt, the redhead would not be swayed from his story. He wouldn't be getting any additional information from Aya on this topic. Still, Omi felt his hopes rise. Aya hadn't suffered any permanent injury. And, if the redhead was protecting Yohji... well, maybe that meant things weren't as horrible as his imagination had led him to believe. Perhaps, it could all be worked out, after all.

"Hey!" Omi cried out, startling from his thoughts as a blur of movement caught his attention. He leaned forward to make a grab for Aya as the redhead tried to stand and almost succeeded in falling flat on his face. "Where the hell do you think you're going, anyhow?"

Aya managed to escape Omi's restraining grip and used the boy as leverage, placing his hand on top of the young blonde's head and using that vantage point to raise himself up off the sofa. He swayed for a moment, feeling dizzy and nauseous as the room tilted around him and tiny sparks of light danced in front of his eyes. Standing up had been a crazy idea, a fool's errand. If he had any damn sense, he should lie right back down on that sofa and not move until the end of time. But, no one had ever accused him of having any good sense, and Aya couldn't shake the memory of a terror-filled look in familiar green eyes. Yohji wasn't here. That meant the idiot was out there, somewhere, doing heaven-knew-what, torturing himself with the fear of what might be, with the horror of what he believed he had done. And, Aya knew Yohji well enough to know this was exactly the time that blonde moron would do something monumentally stupid. He had to find him. He had to talk to him. He didn't know what he was going to say, but he had to try. He just hoped he could find the older man in time, and that the words would be there when he needed them.

"I'm going to find Yohji," Aya replied, turning to look his younger companion in the eyes.

Omi stared, taken aback by the soft urgency he heard in Aya's voice, the note of longing that lingered there, and the hurt-filled regret that seemed, for just a moment, to hang in the redhead's eyes. It was only for a second, and then it was gone, replaced by the emotionless mask the older man usually wore. It came and went so quickly, Omi almost believed he had imagined it. But, he was sure it had been there.

"Aya," Omi said, his voice close to breaking, his tone pleading, softened by the look he'd seen cross those blue-violet eyes. "You're... you're not in any condition to go anywhere. Ken's already out looking for him. I'm sure he'll find him."

Aya snorted, a harsh, derisive laugh that was almost a bark. It had been an involuntary reaction, but the redhead regretted it immediately, as the world tilted on one edge and it felt like his head was going to split open. He groped for some kind of support - something, anything he could use to keep himself on his feet - but all he found was Omi. The young blonde steadied him, at the same time giving him a skeptical look. He had the feeling he was going to have to do a lot of fast talking to convince Omi to let him go, but he had to. He couldn't waste time here arguing with the boy. Ken wouldn't be able to find Yohji; he didn't know where to look. And, if his hunt was successful, Aya knew Ken was too much of a hothead to bring the tall blonde back home. The ex-goalie would regret it later, but Aya knew he would give in to his anger and let his fists do his talking.

"He won't find him," Aya said, his voice soft. "He doesn't know where to look. And, besides, you really think he'll bring the prodigal home? I'm sure he wasn't in the greatest mood when he left."

Omi considered this. It was true. They both knew it. But, even so, the young blonde hated the thought of Aya heading out after Yohji, alone and hurting like he was. After a few moments, Omi sighed, a soft sound of resignation.

"All right," he said, shrugging. "You're right. We both know better than to think Ken can do anything but make a bigger mess out of this. But, still ... you can't go by yourself. You're barely able to stay on your feet. You probably have a concussion, and you're damn lucky to get off that light. You could've broken your neck, you know."

Aya smiled at Omi's nagging worrying. The kid couldn't help it. He cared about all of them. They were his family, and this was how he showed it. He nagged and worried. "I'll be fine," he replied.

Omi didn't look convinced, but the boy knew better than to try and argue with Aya. It would be a pointless waste of time. "But... do you even know where he is? Do you know where to look for him?"

"Yeah," Aya replied, "I have an idea."

Omi said nothing, but only nodded in response. Much as he hated the thought of Aya heading out in the condition he was in, the young blonde couldn't help but feel relieved, too, because now he knew, for certain, everything would be all right.

* * *

The sun had set and the moon had risen, white and full against a beautiful, star-filled black sky, by the time Yohji reached the cemetery. The tall blonde paused at the entrance to stare up at the night sky and the bright, full moon. An ornate iron gate, all scrolls and flourishes at the top to offset the straight lines of the bars at the bottom, stood open at the entrance. The gate was huge. It must have been nine or ten feet tall, easy, and it towered above him, arching against the night sky. The silvery shine of the moonlight slid along its curves and scrolls, turning the dull sheen of the old iron a deep, rich blue. It was a beautiful night - peaceful, with a blanket of stars and just enough of a breeze to stir your hair and make you wish you had worn a light jacket. The moon hung low in the sky. It seemed to loom just over the earth, and, for a moment, Yohji had the feeling he could reach out and touch it, like it was there for the taking. It was the kind of night that folded around you and made you believe anything was possible, the kind of night that seems alive with its own potential. Asuka had always loved nights like this, when the moon was full and huge, and it seemed like there were a million stars just within an arm's reach. Yohji had loved them, too - loved them like all creatures of the light love such things, because they are exotic and different, because they present an exciting sense of adventure. But, that was a lifetime ago. Now, he was a creature of the night, stalking the darkness and shunning the light. He didn't have any more love for nights such as this, only the sweet ache of memory for the sake of the love and the life - past, present, and future - that had slipped through his hands like so many grains of sand. 

He hadn't ever managed to get the drink he had so needed that morning. Instead, he had remained stone-cold sober all day, drinking in the pain and heartache of his past loss and wandering all over the city. He had visited all of Asuka's special places.

The library she had loved because of its architecture, all soaring arches and stone, and the cozy, little corner section inside, right in the middle of the stacks, where she had loved to go and disappear for hours at a time. He couldn't remember how many times he had found her there, curled up on a chair near one of the high windows, lost in the fictional world of whatever book she was reading at the moment.

The coffee shop she had visited every morning, where the old lady behind the counter always gave her extra sugar for her coffee and a free pastry or two. The park, where she had loved to sit for hours in the sun and watch the children play. Today, his heart had ached as he sat on the bench near the playground and remembered all the times they had talked of having a family of their own - dreams that were never meant to come true.

The zoo, a place she had visited on every occasion she could. She had loved the monkeys and the bears, and, whenever she had dragged him along with her, she had always begged for a balloon, just like a child. Yohji hadn't been able to help smiling today, when he had purchased a red balloon from the vendor in front of the lions' enclosure. He had released it and watched it float away, up into the huge, blue sky.

The church near the center of town - a huge, soaring, stone structure with both gargoyles and crosses decorating its arches and towers. She used to go there for hours, just to sit. He hadn't ever understood it. She wasn't Christian, but, when he had asked her, she had simply shrugged and said, "It's quiet there." Yohji never had figured out exactly what she meant. He had always hoped she would explain it to him one day, that she would let him in on a few of her secrets, or that he would, maybe, solve a few of the mysteries that so fascinated him about her. But, she had died before that day ever came.

He saw them all - a dozen places, and more, from one side of the city to the other, all of them holding some significance, some special memory of the woman he had loved. He had wanted to be alone with her ghost - maybe, somehow, to feel closer to her. And, he had believed he could do this by visiting the places that had been so special to her. It had worked, too. The memories and feelings had come pouring back, and not just the pain of losing her, but all the good ones, too.

But, another presence was with him today. Another regret, newer than the ones he carried over Asuka, but just as painful, and that was the regret over what had happened with Aya that morning. The memory of that look in his best friend's eyes - shocked, hurt, betrayed - and the image of Aya's body, lying so still at the foot of the stairs, refused to leave him, refused to let him be alone with Asuka. Hadn't it been bad enough that he always had to remember today as the day he had lost the only woman he had ever loved? Was he really going to have to remember it as the day he had lost the closest friend he had ever known, too? The regrets and fears ate at him all day, until he could hardly stand it, and he knew he had to face them. But, first, he had to end Asuka's day here, at the one place where, now, he could feel closest to her.

The wind stirred his hair and the gravel crunched underfoot as Yohji made his way along the winding path through the cemetery. The leaves rustled in the breeze, and he could hear the sing-song chirrup of crickets and the rattling scurrying of small creatures in the bushes that lined the path. As he passed, even these small, night sounds quieted, as if the whole world was holding its breath, waiting until he had gone. The cemetery was large and park-like, with winding pathways, and stone benches and monuments interspersed among the bushes and coves of trees that dotted the area.

During the day, the sound of birdsong filled the air, and, after dark, small creatures - rabbits, mice, and squirrels, mainly - scampered and scurried about on their nightly errands. Light posts stood at regular intervals along the paths winding through the graveyard. They were the same color of green as the foliage surrounding them, so that, in the daytime, you barely noticed them. But, at night, they illuminated the area with a soft, misty-white glow. It always felt peaceful here. It was the kind of place Asuka would have loved when she was alive, which was why he had chosen it as her final resting place. He hardly ever came here. He was ashamed to admit it. He felt like he was betraying the woman he loved, but he wasn't strong enough to do it. He couldn't face the realization that came with looking at her grave marker, the way it caused reality to come slamming home to him. She was gone, and nothing was going to bring her back. So, he paid someone to maintain her grave, and, generally, avoided this place altogether. But, every year, he ended Asuka's day here. It had become his ritual, his own, personal, yearly pilgrimage.

Her grave was deep within the cemetery, and it took Yohji several minutes to make his way there. As he rounded the last turn in the winding path and got his first view of her resting place, Yohji felt a jolt of surprise to find he wasn't alone. Asuka's grave was at the top of a small rise, and, even though he was still some distance away, he could see someone sitting next to her tombstone. The figure was slight, and silhouetted against the moonlight, so Yohji wasn't able, at first, to tell who it was. But, as he moved closer, the soft, white moonlight and the misty glow of a nearby lamp illuminated the person. It was Aya.

Yohji stopped on the pathway, too stunned to move forward, his stomach twisting itself into knots from all the emotions racing through him - dread, fear, shame, guilt, relief, joy. The redhead was sitting, cross-legged, on the ground near Asuka's grave marker. Yohji had come stealing up the path on silent feet, barely making any more noise than the small creatures that rustled and scrambled through the bushes, and Aya hadn't noticed his approach. The moonlight shone down on him, so that his hair seemed to gleam, silver-white, and his porcelain-like skin seemed to glow with an unearthly light. Not for the first time since meeting the redhead, Yohji was struck by the thought that his friend was truly beautiful. He knew Aya believed himself flawed, without any redeeming qualities, a murderer and nothing more, but Yohji couldn't believe it. Nothing that beautiful, that ethereal, that unearthly, could possibly be evil. Aya looked more like an angel come down to earth than the devil he believed himself to be. But, then, the moonlight shimmered and shifted, and Yohji found he was looking at, not an angel or a devil, but just Aya, the closest friend he'd ever had. It must have been a trick of the light, nothing more.

He couldn't stand here forever. It was either face Aya and what he had done that morning or turn around and leave. And, Yohji wasn't willing to leave. He'd done enough of that that morning, when he had stepped over Aya's still body and bolted out their kitchen door. In the end, this was Asuka's day, after all, and he wanted to at least try to honor her. Besides, he owed Aya this much. He had run out on the younger man once today. He at least owed it to the redhead to face him, to face what had happened between them, what he had done. He respected and loved both of them - Asuka and Aya - too much to take the easy way out and run away again.

That decision finally forced the tall blonde's feet back into motion. He moved forward once again, and, as he came nearer, he realized Aya was surrounded by a small flock of tiny birds. The little creatures flapped and fluttered all around him, covering the ground in a feathery, wriggling mass. They pecked greedily at seed Aya had scattered around him and squabbled with each other. Their little chirps and squeaks of irritation grew louder as the tall blonde approached.

Yohji stepped on a twig that had fallen on the pathway. It snapped with a crack that, although small, seemed loud in the night-time peace. A few of the birds startled into flight as Aya looked up at Yohji's approach, but most of them were too entranced by the free buffet to be scared away.

The tall blonde stopped when Aya looked up, uncertain whether or not he should proceed, frozen in place by his own fear and indecision. But, the redhead smiled, not the ghost of a half-smile Yohji was used to seeing, but a genuine expression of welcome, and, maybe, even relief. It wasn't the greeting the tall blonde had expected to get from his friend, not after what had happened between them that morning, but he felt his heart leap with hope. Maybe, just maybe, things could be all right between them. Maybe, it was possible for him to keep this friend who meant so much to him. He moved forward and dropped to the ground to sit beside Aya, unsettling the birds. The squabbling, little creatures flapped away, but only for a moment. Then, they were back, fighting, chirping, and pecking at each other in their quest for the seed Aya offered them.

For a while, neither man said anything. They simply sat, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching the birds and listening to their angry chatter as they squabbled over the seed. The silence seemed to grow and stretch between them. It was comfortable, companionable, but, at the same time, it was like a living thing. Yohji started to feel, if he didn't break it soon, they might never speak again.

"I was... worried," Aya said. His deep voice rumbled through the night, barely above a whisper, but Yohji jumped, all the same. He hadn't expected Aya to speak first.

Aya glanced over at Yohji, the smallest, side-ways movement of his eyes, before continuing"I... I woke up, and Omi told me you were gone. I was... worried about you, about what you might do."

The words were hesitant. If Yohji hadn't known the redhead so well, he would have believed Aya was insincere. But, the tall blonde knew how much that admission had cost his quiet friend. Aya didn't want to care, but, once you managed to enter his world, he did care - sincerely and deeply. He just had a hard time showing it. And, at the sound of those simple sentences, so hesitantly spoken, Yohji felt tears spring to his eyes. He was a man. He was Weiss. Assassins don't cry. But, yet, the tears and the lump in his throat were there, all the same. He was so relieved to see Aya sitting here, apparently all right, that he couldn't help himself. And, as difficult as it was for him to believe, it seemed Aya just might forgive him.

"I ..." Yohji started, but the lump in his throat seemed to grow. It cut off his words, and his voice failed him. He cleared his throat, and started again, "I... I'm sorry ..."

"Don't," Aya said, cutting him off before he could get the words out. "Just ... don't. We don't have to talk about it. Nothing happened."

Yohji wanted to drop it. He wanted to pretend like the whole thing hadn't happened, just like Aya said. But, he had been walking around all day, worrying and feeling guilty, and he knew better. They had to talk about it. Otherwise, they would never get past it, no matter what Aya thought.

The tall blonde shook his head. "No," he said. "No. We need to talk about it. I need to." He took a deep breath and continued, "I ... I'm sorry, Aya. I'm so fucking sorry for what happened this morning... for what I did. I... I don't know why I even did it. I... don't know why I was so mad."

Aya waved his hand, scattering the rest of the seed and sending the birds flapping after it. "Yohji ... it ... wasn't you. You weren't yourself. You didn't mean it."

"But, that's just it," Yohji said. He turned away, unable to face his friend for the shame he felt. "I did. I did mean it. I was so mad, and so ..." His voice trailed off in a frustrated sigh, as he pulled off his sunglasses and ran his hands over his face and through his hair, tugging his fingers roughly through the shoulder-length strands. "Fuck. I ... I don't know what I was. I don't even remember everything that happened. I ... just ... hurt ... so bad. I feel so... just so fucking empty. Like nothing's ever gonna be okay again. And, I wanted someone else to hurt, too. I... just wanted to hurt someone else, to make someone feel even half the pain I did. But... not you. Fuck... not ever you, Aya. I mean ... I ... you ... you're my family. With you around, it's like ... like I'm home again, you know? Like I can believe, maybe, everything might be all right, you know? Like, maybe, this fucked-up life we have ... maybe it's not so bad, maybe I can live through it. I ... I could never hurt you, or ... at least, that's what I believed. But, then ... I was so mad... and it hurt so bad... like my whole life was nothing, like I just couldn't go on with this fucking empty feeling... and you were just, well, there. And, I don't know... I just... I just snapped, and I wanted to hurt you. But, then, when you fell ..." Yohji's words trailed off as his voice failed him again. He cleared his throat and paused a moment, before he was able to continue, "No... when I pushed you. And, I saw you lying there... shit... you were so still, and it was like I had destroyed the last thing that made me sane."

The tall blonde's words tumbled to a stop. They had fallen out of his mouth, practically on top of one another, he had rushed through it all so quickly. It sounded stupid, and, even to him, it didn't make any sense. But, Yohji had had to keep going once he had started talking. If he had stopped, he'd never be able to say the things he needed to say. He just prayed that, somehow, Aya would make sense of it, just like he always did.

For a few moments, Aya didn't say anything. He just sat and stared at the birds flapping around them. Yohji felt his heart sink. How had he misread things so? How could he have believed everything could be all right between them? How could he have believed Aya could forgive him for what he had done? The redhead couldn't even look at him.

Aya cleared his throat, a soft sound that broke through Yohji's thoughts and made him jump. "You didn't push me, Yohji. I fell. It's... that simple. It was just a stupid accident, nothing more." He paused for a moment - a heartbeat, maybe two, but it seemed much longer to Yohji. When he continued, he looked up at the older man, and Yohji was shocked to see Aya's eyes shining with tears the redhead refused to shed. "I... I'm sorry. About the mission tonight. You were right. I shouldn't have refused it without asking everyone else. It's just... you. You're so... I don't know ... so bent on destruction or something every year like this. And, I was... I was afraid that, maybe, you would do something stupid during the mission. Like, maybe, you'd let the target end it all or something. It's stupid, I know... and selfish, too. But, I just... if that happened... if you did that. I couldn't live with it. That's why. That's why I refused the mission."

Yohji stared at his friend, uncertain how he should respond. He knew Aya, probably better than anyone else did, but this admission shocked the hell out of him. He had always known, on some instinctive level, that Aya refused missions on Asuka's day because he was afraid. But, he had never expected the redhead to admit it. And, looking at Aya, watching the emotions chasing each other through his eyes, watching his quiet friend fight, for all he was worth, to pull the uncaring, emotionless mask back over his face, Yohji knew how hard it had been for Aya to make this simple admission. It was a testament to the redhead's devotion to him, an indication of how important his friendship was to Aya, that the younger man had struggled through the words.

The emotions that had been fighting within Yohji all day - guilt, anger, sorrow, shame, fear - seemed to fall away with the realization that Aya was hurting, too. With the knowledge that the younger man was struggling through all of this with him, all the negative feelings vanished, and the tall blonde wondered how he could have ever thought he hated Aya enough to attack him that morning. It wasn't true. He didn't hate Aya; he never had. He realized that now. Watching the emotions war through his friend's eyes and face, staring at the tears Aya was fighting to keep in check, Yohji realized he loved Aya. This quiet man had, somehow, become a touchstone in his life - the closest friend he had ever known, the brother he had never had, the family he had lost long ago. Yohji figured he would never understand what had made him snap today, but, one thing was certain. It hadn't been hatred.

Yohji forced his gaze away from the redhead. He knew Aya was uncomfortable with having admitted so much, and he wasn't willing to add to his friend's burden by staring at him. The emotions he saw in Aya's eyes mimicked the feelings that had dogged the tall blonde all day. For those few seconds, before he looked away, Aya seemed vulnerable and alone, and Yohji had to fight the urge to embrace the redhead in a comforting hug.

An uneasy silence fell between them, and Yohji could feel the tension and shame radiating off the younger man. He knew he had to break the unhealthy quiet. The last thing he wanted was for Aya to feel any sort of shame over expressing his feelings. Instead of the hug he so longed to give the redhead, he smiled and leaned against Aya, bumping the younger man with his shoulder - a companionable gesture to let Aya know everything was all right. He felt the tension evaporate almost immediately, and he knew Aya had understood.

They sat like that for another few minutes, the silence now comfortable and companionable, broken only by the angry chirrups and squabbles of the birds fighting over the seed Aya had scattered earlier.

Never one to be comfortable with quiet, Yohji spoke first, "So ... what's with all the birds, anyhow?" He had been pretty shocked to find Aya, of all people, sitting here in the middle of a cemetery, surrounded by birds.

"They're for her," Aya said, tilting his head back toward Asuka's grave marker. "For Asuka. You said, once, that she liked birds, right?"

The redhead's tone was hesitant, uncertain, as if he thought he'd made a mistake, and, now on unsure footing, he was, once again, uncomfortable. Yohji stared at his friend. He couldn't help it. Even though he knew he was embarrassing Aya, the tall blonde couldn't look away. Leave it to Aya, someone most people believed to be a complete and unrepentant asshole, to remember that small thing, said in passing months ago. Yohji felt his heart swell with emotion, and the lump was there, in his throat, once again, threatening to choke him. The tears returned, too, and, this time, he couldn't fight them back. He didn't even try. He just let them come.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, she loved birds. It's... perfect. She would've loved it." He paused and took a deep breath. "I miss her. I miss her so much. It's so fucking hard. Every day is hard, but this day... the day she died... It's the worst. It's like I can't do anything but remember how I had it so perfect and wonderful for that short time. I thought it would go on forever, but it ended. It ended so fucking soon, and I know I'll spend the rest of my life trying to get that back ... but it'll never happen. I know it'll never happen, and, most days... somehow, I manage to live with it. But, on the day she died... I just can't take it. It's like it all rushes in on me and I want to scream."

Aya didn't reply for a moment or two. He just sat, quietly watching the birds. After a little while, he said, "I know." His voice was soft, so soft it barely carried to Yohji's ears.

The words were simple, but it was all that needed to be said. Somehow, with that one small sentence, those two simple words, Aya had cut through the grief and pain to let Yohji know he wasn't alone. And, somehow, just hearing the words made Yohji feel like, maybe, he could live through it, after all.

Aya sighed and stood up, brushing grass from his pants. The birds flapped away into the trees, done with their impromptu feast. He held out his hand to the older man. "Come on, Yohji. Don't you think it's time to go home?"

Yohji took the hand Aya offered him. He pulled himself to a standing position. He paused to brush the dirt off his jeans, and nodded as he replied, "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is."

As he followed Aya back to the pathway and toward the exit, Yohji shivered and wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. He had run out of the house that morning without a jacket, wearing only a thin, short-sleeved, cotton t-shirt. For most of the day, the chilly breeze hadn't bothered him, but, now that it seemed his life crisis had passed and the adrenaline had left him, the tall blonde realized he was cold.

He had been trailing a little behind Aya, but Yohji increased his pace and caught up to the younger man in just a couple of long strides. As he came up beside the redhead, Yohji shrugged into him, bumping him gently with his shoulder to get Aya's attention.

"Can't you walk any faster?" the tall blonde whined once the redhead glanced in his direction. "It's freaking cold out here. I'm freezing my nuts off."

Aya frowned at him, his expression a mixture of outright irritation and amused disdain. "That's not my problem, Kudou. Maybe you should've thought about that before you pushed me down the stairs and ran out of the house like an idiot."

"That was kind of uncalled for," Yohji commented.

He paused to light a cigarette. Now that the emotions warring within his soul had stilled, he had no trouble getting the lighter to spring to life on the first try. The tobacco flared as the cig caught, and then began to smolder with the tall blonde's first drag. He looked up to find Aya hadn't stopped to wait for him. The redhead was several steps ahead, and he had to jog a bit to catch up to him.

"I said," Yohji repeated, his tone light and teasing, "That was kinda uncalled for."

Aya glanced sideways at him, the barest narrowing of his blue-violet eyes, and that same mixture of irritation and amusement still written on his face. "Truth hurts," he replied, shrugging.

He winced a bit at the small motion. He tried to hide it, but the tall blonde saw the way his eyes narrowed a bit more at the corners. That one small gesture told him how much Aya was hurting. He felt guilt stealing up on him again, but he fought it down. They needed this. This friendly, teasing banter was what they did - their way of getting everything back to normal between them.

"Well," Yohji said, in between puffs on his cigarette, "You have a coat... and a long-sleeved shirt." He shivered again and stuffed his hands in his front jeans pockets in an effort to warm them up a bit.

Aya cocked one eyebrow and gave Yohji a disapproving glare. "So?" he asked.

His voice was flat and toneless. To anyone else, it would've sounded like Aya was about two steps away from throwing one hell of a hissy fit. But, the tall blonde knew better. He could hear the amused undertone in Aya's voice.

Yohji shrugged. "So," he replied, "I figured... you know... you could share, maybe." Although his tone remained light and teasing, his words were clipped short because his teeth had begun to chatter together.

Aya stopped walking and turned to glare at the tall blonde, his expression one of feigned irritation and disbelief. "I dragged my aching ass out here to make sure you were all right. After you pushed me down the stairs. And, now, you want my fucking coat, too?" He paused, and, when Yohji nodded, he replied, "You are an ungrateful fucking bastard, Yohji Kudou."

The redhead turned away and resumed walking toward the cemetery exit. Yohji just stood there and watched the younger man's back. When Aya was several steps away, he called out, "You prick! I think it's the least you could do."

Aya slowed, but didn't stop. After he had gone a few more steps, Yohji whined, "But, Ayaaaaaa! It's cooold"

The redhead stopped. His back still toward Yohji, he glared up at the star-filled night sky, as if to ask the heavens why this torture had to be visited upon him. After a few moments, he sighed and shrugged out of his coat. He threw the garment at his companion, succeeding in smacking Yohji across the face with it and making him drop his cigarette.

"Asshole," Aya snapped, as he turned to walk away. The word was harsh, but he had been smiling - that amused ghost of a half-smile the tall blonde was so used to seeing, and which told Yohji, for certain, everything was all right between them.

As he shrugged into the jacket, Yohji ground the fallen butt out under the heel of his boot and laughed. He paused long enough to light a new cigarette, and then hurried to catch up to Aya's retreating back. The sound of his laughter hung in the air behind him, and Yohji figured that Asuka, if she was watching, was smiling, too.


End file.
